


You See The Fire In My Heart

by Bennyhatter



Series: Sunrise in Darkness [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dmitri has trust issues like whoa, Emotionally damaged men, Emotionally suspicious character, Gabriel will do anything for his sister, Grown men who are a bit stunted emotionally, Humping like teenagers, M/M, Psychic Bond, Soul Bond, Supernatural Creatures, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4984357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, they've done it. Gabriel and Dmitri are Bonded now forevermore, through the good and the bad and everything else life and Fate and annoying sisters named Amber throw at them. That doesn't mean the world is perfect, though. They may be Bonded, but they've still got to work through their issues and the darkness that lurks within them. Can they come to terms with the things they've done in their pasts, and can they accept the things their other half has done? Or are there some lines they just cannot cross, some things they cannot accept? For them, only time will tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You See The Fire In My Heart

"How old are you?"

Dmitri pauses and looks over his shoulder at Gabriel, frowning while he continues to stir the contents of the skillet. One eyebrow arches slowly, and he watches his mate watch its ascent before the man's pale, pale blue eyes drop lower to stare at him intently, like he's trying to stare into his soul. For a while they just stand there, locked in their silent battle, and then the meat grease pops and the spell is broken, so he turns back to tend to their dinner.

"Why?" he asks distractedly, mismatched eyes flicking between the browning hamburger and the seasonings he's lined up beside the stove. He's making tacos _his_ way, because contrary to popular (read: Amber's) belief, he actually _does_ know how to prepare food to feed himself, he's been doing it for long enough; no one can survive completely on raw, unseasoned meat no matter what anyone tries to say.

"Because I know you're older than me, but I don't know how old you really are. I mean, I know you look younger, but you're _not_."

"Aren't I?" He knows he's dodging around the answer, just like he knows that Gabriel knows, and he can feel his mate's fond exasperation slipping around the corners of his mind, a tender caress akin to fingertips brushing across his temples, and he cannot help but nudge back, a little more firmly but not _meanly_. "Who told you that?"

"C'mon, 'Ri," the other man sighs, just barely edging into a whine, and Dmitri makes sure to hide his smile as he prods at the hamburger. Leera pads into the kitchen, her claws ticking against the floor, and the husky stops to affectionately butt her head against his hip before she meanders over to the island and flops down on her bed. She's gotten so big in such a short amount of time, and she's not even quite a year old yet. It's hard to believe she'd only been ten weeks old the first time he ever met her—the first day he met Gabriel and their entire lives changed forever, as cliché as it sounds. Now she's eleven months old, long and sleek and beautiful, and Dmitri loves to run with her at the local park, or even through Gabriel's apartment, bounding on four feet rather than two while Gabriel lounges on the couch and watches them both with so much _love_ in his eyes that it's still terrifying to him sometimes.

"Hey," he hears quietly from right behind him, and then strong, bare arms are sliding around his waist, rubbing at his shirt-clad chest directly in the middle of his breastbone. When he risks a glance down, he feels the same thrill he always does roll through him when he sees his name in big, hasty print scrawled down his mate's forearm, and he feels the warmth of Gabriel's fingers as they knead at his chest where he knows the man's name adorns his own skin in dark, elegant script. "Hey," Gabriel breathes again, directly into his ear before he croons softly and nuzzles the sensitive skin behind the lobe. "This isn't a test, or some kind of demand. I'm just curious, 'Ri. It's been, what, almost nine months? We should know more about each other."

"We know everything about each other," Dmitri murmurs, because it's true, thanks to the ability of their Bond. They know every intimate corner of each other’s' minds but the few dark crevices in each other where they haven't yet ventured--Gabriel because he's waiting for permission, and Dmitri because he's still not sure if he's ready to dive into that, yet.

"You're evading," Gabriel hums, his voice vibrating through the smaller man's skin and making a shiver run down his spine to spread warmth through his belly. "Is it that big of a secret?"

No, it's not, and he doesn't know why he's so adverse to just talking, but he is, so Dmitri tightens his jaw and turns off the stove when the hamburger is done, shifting until his mate sighs and releases him and he can cross to the sink and drain out the excess liquids before returning the meat to the skillet and beginning to mix everything together. He can feel Gabriel's gaze burning the back of his neck, but he tries to ignore it until he feels annoyance and upset that is not his own sizzle through his veins; goosebumps breaking out down his arms and legs as Gabriel stalks to the fridge and digs through it to pull out the things they'll need for the tacos, shutting the door a little more firmly than necessary. Dmitri closes his eyes and counts to ten slowly, keeping his breathing even, and when he's done he turns to dump the taco meat into the waiting bowl and carries it to the table. Leera follows him, pressing close until he reaches the barely-used dining room, and then she slips away and assumes her place beneath the table, curled up and watching him with her intelligent eyes.

"Dmitri." The use of his full name makes his shoulders tense, and he looks over his shoulder at his mate, who looks tired and frustrated. "You're okay," Gabriel promises, opening his mind to let everything run through their Bond until Dmitri cannot help but relax and look down, shamed, because they should be past this, _he_ should be past this, but every time something like this comes up, like his age, or his parents, or where he's from, he can _feel_ his walls restructuring themselves, his mind reverting back into lockdown mode, and he sees how much it hurts his mate, but he can't _stop_. The name sunk into his skin in stark black ink is proof that he's safe, that he's wanted, that he's _Bonded_ to his _soulmate_ , the one person meant for him and him alone, but he's still so afraid of revealing too much, letting Gabriel in too deep, because the last thing he wants is to watch the one who is supposed to be his mate run away as fast as he can because he _cannot handle Dmitri's past._

"I won't," he hears, the words low and snarled, and suddenly he's caught up in Gabriel, his mate wrapped around him and breathing soft, reverent declarations into his wild hair. "Won't leave you, won't ever leave you, nothing you tell me will scare me away." It's a mantra, a record on a loop, and he clings to the front of Gabriel's shirt and presses his nose against his mate's collarbone, just breathing in his scent until his shaky, choppy inhales smooth out and become deeper and more relaxed.

For several long moments, they stand wrapped around and absorbed in one another, saying nothing, just breathing together with the dish of taco meat the only barrier between them. Eventually, Dmitri pulls away, always the first to do so, and turns to set the dish down before they sit across from one another, the table large but the distance not impersonal.

“If you don’t want to tell me how old you are,” Gabriel says calmly as he digs into the taco meat and piles it onto his tortillas, his penetrating gaze searching but not demanding, “then you don’t have to. I wasn’t just trying to be brusque earlier, though. We really _should_ know more about each other than we do, ‘Ri.”

“I know.” Waiting until his mate is done, he fiddles with his fork before taking his own helping of the meat. Considering their metabolisms, they both pack away quite a lot of calories a day, so every meal they make usually ends up being enough to feed five people well, and they almost never have leftovers. He sighs deeply, the Power buzzing familiarly against his skin like a comforting blanket. Leera rests her head on his bare foot, nuzzling her cold nose into the bump of his ankle bone.

“Let’s play a game,” he mate decides, grinning around his mouthful while juices from the meat run down his chin. It’s disgusting, but it makes him feel so _fond_ that he cannot help the way his lips twitch, and he knows the feeling transfers, because a surge of affection laps back through the Bond to envelope him like gentle waves.

“A game?”

“Yeah, a game. You ask me a question, and I have to answer it. No lying, because we’ll know, and no deflecting it. We have to answer the question we’re asked, and so on. So what do you think?”

Dmitri looks down at his plate, prodding at the cheese slowly melting across the top of his mound of taco meat and fixings, because he hasn’t wrapped it into a burrito yet. “Okay,” he says quietly, feeling the way his insides twist nervously and cold sweat prickles at his temples.

“You first then.” His mate sits back in his chair, relaxed and open as he takes another bite of his burrito and laps happily at the mix of juices and sour cream that spill out the sides to smear over his stubbled cheeks.

“When is your birthday?” They might as well start somewhere safe. He doesn’t think he can delve any deeper than that right now.

“May twenty-second, nineteen eighty nine.”

“You’re twenty-six?”

“Yep.” Gabriel grins with shiny lips, and the sight is decidedly distracting, so Dmitri forces himself to look down. He swallows thickly.

“You don’t look it,” he offers.

“I’ve been told that before. When’s your birthday?”

Dmitri has to honestly think about that for several long, quiet minutes, messily rolling his burrito and taking a satisfying bite. It’s not too cold yet, so he’s glad for that. It’s been a long time since he’s felt the need to celebrate his birthday. The last time was probably with Tony, and the thought of the man makes him grip his food a little harder than necessary, glad it’s something soft because it yields easily beneath his strong grip. He sucks in a deep breath, focusing on the savory flavors of the spices that coat his tastebuds as he chews slowly and then swallows.

“June twenty-first,” he finally says quietly, but he knows that Gabriel can hear him just fine. The man’s ears aren’t as good as his own, but he can hear better than a human could ever hope to.

“What year?”

“That’s more than one question,” he quips, trying for a smile and mostly succeeding. Thankfully, his mate doesn’t seem to annoyed, because his grin is gentle and playful.

“So it is. Alright then, what’s your next question?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

Gabriel laughs. “I enjoy cool colors, mostly blues and greens though. I know, right?” He interprets Dmitri’s expression clearly, and his smile widens. “You wouldn’t really know it, would you, considering the lack of color in my wardrobe. Blacks and greys are easier, I guess, considering how much alcohol and other unmentionable liquids get splattered on me at the bar. They hide stains better, unless it’s bleach, so I tend to stick with them.”

“Fair enough.” Dmitri shrugs and accepts the answer, knowing it’s the truth. He doesn’t have much color in his own wardrobe, so it’s not like he can really talk. “Ask.”

“What year were you born?” No hesitation or preamble—this is something that’s really important to his mate, but he cannot for the life of him figure out why. Still, he has to answer, and he cannot lie, so he looks down at his plate and hunches his shoulders.

“Eighteen seventy two.” The words feel like tar, sticking uncomfortably in his throat and rolling slowly past his teeth like sticky molasses. Once it’s out there, though, he cannot take the date back, so he takes another big bite of his burrito, eating with a voraciousness that has nothing to do with hunger as he feels the prickle and buzz of Gabriel’s surprise tingle at his fingertips, the man’s mind a quiet whirr as he processes the answer and does the math.

“You really, _really_ do not look your age,” he finally says with a laugh, bright and easy and awed. “God, dude, you look younger than I do! What’s your secret?”

“Very, very slow aging process,” Dmitri responds shyly, not even bothering to call him on the extra question because he’s too busy drowning in the tumbling rush of relief. He has no idea why he’d thought the numbers would matter to Gabriel, but to know that they really, really don’t makes something tight he hadn’t realized existed uncoil in his chest. He feels lighter, attacking his food with renewed vigor and helping himself to more as his mate laughs and does the same, something sweet and easy passing back and forth between them through their Bond.

“So, one hundred forty three years old,” Gabriel says while they’re cleaning up, soap suds streaked up his bare arms from the sink full of dishes he’s washing while Dmitri dries. They have a dishwasher, but he doesn’t really like to use it, preferring to clean things with his own hands, and Gabriel, thankfully, has never really teased him about it, just rolled up his sleeves and gotten right into it with him. He bumps their shoulders together, his grin wicked and crooked. “You’re such a cradle robber.”

“The absolute worst of mankind,” Dmitri retorts, voice as dry as the desert, and Gabriel’s bark of laughter is like bright fireworks going off in his mind, colors of love and adoration and so many other things sparking wonderfully and fizzling into a deep current of contentment that runs strong and steady like a river through him.

“I love you,” his soulmate tells him, and the words make his breath stutter to a halt. He’s said it before, but this time it feels deeper, it feels like _more_ , no teasing inflection or Bond to back it up, because they love each other on principle, love each other because Fate has pushed them toward one another, each the imperfect piece that makes them a perfect fit, but it’s never been like this before. This feels entirely new, nothing but pure honesty there, with nothing but pure intentions backing it, not because Fate has decreed it, but because Gabriel _feels_ it. He drops into that well, testing it, wondering, and finds it deeper than he can even fathom, like there is no bottom for him to reach no matter how far down he swims. He surfaces again with a gasp, stumbling and dropping the plate he’s been drying. Distantly, he hears the sound of it hitting the tiles and breaking, feels the pinprick of pain as a jagged piece catches the side of his foot, and then hot hands are on his arms, steadying him, holding him together, and dry, warm lips are rasping repeatedly against his cheek, tracing a path up to his temple, and he can feel them moving. He has to concentrate to refocus himself, and can tell without looking that the tree outside the window has burst into bloom so heavily that the branches are bending under the weight.

“…so much, Dmitri, I really do. Come on, breathe for me, ‘Ri, stay with me, stay here. Is it that hard to believe, that I really do love you?”

“Yes,” he rasps weakly, honestly, and Gabriel laughs in relief and ducks to kiss him properly, their lips sliding together easily, and he grips the man’s shoulders tightly, desperately, keening as a wet, clever tongue flicks out over his bottom lip, blunt teeth teasing and tugging until he relents, shuddering, and lets his mate in. They stumble backwards, the broken plate forgotten, until Gabriel has him pressed up against the closest wall, holding him in place with nothing more than his intent.

“I do,” the man rumbles when they pull apart, lips wet and swollen, Dmitri’s pupils blown and Gabriel’s eyes rich red and focused completely on him, his skin heating beneath the palms Dmitri has pressed against his biceps, slipped up under the cuffs of his short sleeves. The air around them is getting hot, heavy and sultry as they breathe each other in, the Power buzzing over both of them, wrapping them up in their own cocoon, sharing itself between them the way they share themselves with each other. “I love you so fucking much,” he hears, barely a whisper of breathy air, and then they’re kissing again, his nails digging into hot, tanned skin and Gabriel’s own fingers pressing against his lower back beneath his shirt like individual brands. He rocks eagerly against the thigh that sips between his own, pressing against his groin, and he grinds forward like a desperate teenager, fumbling and desperate and whining.

“Want you, only you,” Gabriel croons, pulling himself back to hiss the words directly into his oversensitive ear, and he’s shaking, he _needs_ , and he digs his claws in harder until the coppery scent of blood unfurls like a blossoming flower between them, sharp and heady and tangy on his tongue as he drops his head to lick over the wounds he’s inflicted; feeling the skin knit itself together slowly more and more with each drag of his tongue until the skin is whole and unblemished once more.

“Yes,” Dmitri moans, meaning something entirely different and entirely the same at the same time, still grinding frantically, the pleasure spiraling higher and higher until it crests and he comes, shuddering and panting brokenly against Gabriel’s shoulder. His mate hums soothingly, stroking a hand through his unruly hair and helping him back down from the precipice, leading him with gentle touches and warm thoughts. When he feels like he can stand on his own, no matter how weak his legs feel, he rocks back onto his heels and looks up through his sweaty bangs, still trying to catch his breath.

“Gorgeous,” he hears, the word spoken lowly and with clear reverence, and he ducks his head shyly, feeling the heat of his blush spread across his cheeks and down his throat. Leaning forward, he keeps himself standing under his own power, but nuzzles into his mate’s throat, breathing in his scent and licking up a few drops of sweat. Knowing that Gabriel hasn’t reached his own release, he drops a hand to palm at the hot, heavy line of the man’s cock, letting him roll his hips forward, seeking the friction he needs until the man grunts and shudders apart, the sudden, if muffled, scent of his release turning the air slightly salty.

“Next time.” A nose nuzzles behind his ear and Dmitri tilts his head to grant access, shivering at the gentle nip and then moaning quietly as Gabriel sucks a mark into his skin that they both know will not remain for long. “Next time, we’re doing this on a bed. Gonna do this _properly_ , believe you me. Also, it’s your turn to ask a question.”

It’s almost impossible to stop the chuckle that escapes him, so he doesn’t really try to, pulling back and making a face at the way his boxers cling to him now with the aid of his cum but making no move to rid himself of his soiled garments. Instead, he kisses his mate again, softer than the hard, passionate kisses they’d been exchanging moments ago, and then makes his way back into the kitchen to clean up the broken shards of the plate. Gabriel follows him, their Bond full of all the things they feel but don’t need to say as they settle back into what they were doing before their impromptu romp. Leera is settled back in her kitchen bed, watching them with an expression that is somewhere between fond and unbearably smug. She’s staring at Dmitri when he glances at her, her eyes gleaming, and he huffs at her but cannot bring himself to sound anything but warmly exasperated, and her tail beats strongly against the floor.

“We know everything there is to know about each other,” he begins, feeling shy and nervous for no real reason as he dumps the last of the mess into the trash can and returns to drying the dishes Gabriel has put in the drying rack. “Well,” he amends, “almost everything. I’m still not sure what you are, exactly. I’ve never really seen anything like you before.”

“So what’s your question?” Gabriel’s voice is teasing, but his eyes are kind, his smile crooked but not mean.

“What are you, exactly?” There, he said it. Now he waits, feeling oddly anticipatory.

Rather than answering right away, Gabriel looks down at the glass mug in his hand, cleaning it carefully to make sure he gets it pristine. “There are words for my kind,” he finally says, making it sound far more dramatic than the moment probably warrants, and laughing at his own theatrics. He looks over, and his eyes are red again, everything swallowed up by it. “It’s really hard to look at you like this,” he comments easily, his eyes returning to normal seemingly between one blink and the next. “When my eyes are like that, I have thermal vision. You know that. I see body heat and such, and I can tell how hot a person’s body temperature is. How… how strong they are. I can tell if they’ll be able to handle what I need to take or not.”

“Take?” Dmitri tilts his head, frowning in confusion. “What do you mean, take?”

“Some of the supernatural community calls my kind demons. Specifically, incubi and succubae. They say we’re lust demons because that’s what we feed on—lust, and sexual energy. We can feed on all kinds of energy, really, but sexual energy is usually the strongest, and it’s the easiest for us to get, because the word we live in today is very, very overly sexualized. It’s like a twenty-four-hour buffet, really.” He laughs again, and Dmitri reaches out toward him, because that laugh wasn’t light or happy. It was dark, and bitter, and hateful, and he doesn’t like the way Gabriel’s emotions have turned murky—the way he feels like he’s withdrawing in all of the ways that matter, even as he leans into Dmitri’s touch.

“So just now…”

“No.” Gabriel shakes his head, his black hair whipping back and forth with the force of it. When he stops, his bangs fall forward to cover his cheeks and eyes. “Trust me, if I fed from you, you’d know it. Sometimes, others don’t realize it. It doesn’t hurt, and I’m _very_ good at what I do, but someone as strong as you… You would feel whatever I took from you. Usually, my kind go after stronger heat signatures, because they have more to give, and it won’t affect them as badly, but if our _prey_ , for lack of a better word, is strong enough, they can feel us taking from them, and if we do it without permission, they’re usually not too happy about it.”

“What if you take too much?”

“If our partner, or chosen target, isn’t strong enough to withstand it…” His mate shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the sink so tightly that his knuckles are turning white beneath the coating of suds. “Usually, it’s just small things that are easy to recover from. Tiredness, dizziness, hunger so that their body can reabsorb what we took. If we lose control, though, and we take too much, then they die.” Blunt, honest, and layered in a way that tells Dmitri everything he needs to know.

“You’ve taken too much from someone before.” It’s not a question.

One ice-colored eye focuses on him, the other still hidden behind the protective fringe of his bangs. “Yes,” Gabriel admits simply. “I don’t regret it, though.” His voice remains even and honest, his heartbeat steady and strong. “I killed a man who wished Amber harm. I drained him of everything he had, every single drop of life energy. It’s the only time I’ve ever let myself gorge like that, and I didn’t even keep most of it. Just enough to keep me fed for a bit. The rest, I sent into the earth.”

Dmitri nods, feeling not at all disgusted or angry. He’s killed to keep himself alive for a lot less than that, so he’d be entirely hypocritical if he judged his mate for doing what he needed to in order to keep his sister safe. He makes sure the man knows that, too, sending everything through the Bond and accepting the bitter-tinged gratefulness he’s sent back in return, their emotions wrapping around one another as they go back to cleaning the last of the dishes.

“I don’t know what I am,” he admits quietly, nervously, as he sets the newly-cleaned skillet onto a towel to dry. He feels Gabriel’s interest, his curiosity, and rubs his fingers against his pants because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands right now. “I’ve never met anyone like me before, not since my… not since my parents.” Looking down, he bites his bottom lip and breathes shallowly, fast and shaky. “I’ve met werewolves, and skinwalkers, but-”

“Skinwalkers? What are those?”

“Cousins of werewolves, basically. They usually turn into dogs, though, not wolves. Some of them can turn at will, but others are influenced by things like the full moon or solstices and eclipses. I guess it depends on how strong they are. I’m not sure.”

“Huh.” Gabriel tilts his head thoughtfully, looking at him fully now. “So what about what else you can do? With the plants and stuff?”

“I don’t know.” He’s never been able to figure that out, and he’s never met anyone who could puzzle it out either. Shrugging helplessly, he leans against his mate and breathes in his scent, sorting through the different levels and emotions rolling off of Gabriel and letting them wash over him and calm him. “I might never know. It just is what it is.” Glancing out the window, he winces when he sees the tree, which is fairly dripping with all of the energy he’s put into it, and he carefully extracts the excess until the branches stop groaning and the leaves recede to what they were before his control slipped.

They make their way to the sofa and settle in, Dmitri curled up with his legs tucked underneath him and his head resting on the back of the sofa, his nose pressed against his mate’s shoulder. Leera joins them after a moment, hopping up on Gabriel’s other side and laying her head on her owner’s thigh. Gabriel, for his part, has his feet kicked up onto the coffee table, one arm wrapped around Dmitri’s shoulders and the other hand buried in Leera’s scruff, kneading gently. Neither of them makes a move to turn on the television, instead enjoying the peace and natural noises around them as they sink into the Bond and into each other, exploring depths they haven’t yet ventured into. Inside each of them, the darkness has shrunk back a little, some of the shadows stripped away by the confessions each have spoken aloud today, and they explore this newly-revealed territory in themselves and each other, curious to see what else might have been revealed within their souls.

“I love you,” Gabriel breathes against his hair some time later, when the bright glow of day is deepening into fiery golden fingers that crawl across the carpet and warm their toes, afternoon long ago turned to evening, which is slowly fading into twilight. Dmitri presses a kiss against his collarbone, breathing the declaration deep into his lungs, and then lays his head in the center of his mate’s breast and taps his fingers against his own name where it’s emblazoned across his mate’s arm.

“You too,” he whispers at last, shy and barely-audible, but he feels the smile that curves against his temple, and hears the quick jump of the steady heart beneath his ears, and in that moment he feels a love and affection that warms him more than any sunlight ever could, a heat crawling through him that blazes stronger than any fire, and he closes his heavy eyelids and soaks it all up the way dry, cracked, dehydrated earth sucks up life-giving rain after too long with nothing.

 _You too_.


End file.
